Need proof that some Londoners are mad enough to have a Westfield as their daily driver? Look no further.

In the preface to the book Speed, Style and Beauty about his bollocks car collection, Ralph Lauren wrote that his first car was a Morgan. He chose it because, as he put it, it was driven by the kind of people who leave the canvas top down even in the driving snow. Lunatics, in other words, but lunatics of the most agreeable kind.

Morgan is, of course, a British carmaker, and in its home country, an even more poignant example of said lunacy is on display: a Westfield Seven parked right out on the street.

With patches of moss thriving where the front fenders meet the hood—an environment made especially pleasant by the warmth of the exhaust pipe and the regular rains that soak London. The next one, in fact, was about to arrive.

It is no wonder Britain once built the world’s mightiest empire. Who else would be tough enough to drive a car in the city whose driver’s seat is millimeters from the asphalt and requires you to embark kayak-style: foot-ass-foot, that is.

These are also the people who have their water pipes running on the outside of walls. Toughness and lunacy are, indeed, not very distant cousins.